


Sharp Things

by lunacatd



Series: 100 word Stories [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-23 07:55:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6110112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunacatd/pseuds/lunacatd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft reminisces</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sharp Things

**Author's Note:**

> Day 3 story 3 of my personal 100 word story challenge. However the word count got the better of me again, I am not going to sweat it as the point is to write and I'm doing that (HURRAY!) 
> 
> Also I am trying to explore the characters, learn something new about them, without taking them too far out of canon. What do you think? Is that goal achieved? Yes? No? Let me know.

“Hold all my calls for fifteen minutes, Anthea, thank you.” 

“Yes, Mr Holmes,” his assistant’s precise voice replied through the intercom.

After locking the office door, Mycroft, a significant contingent of the British government, sat back down at his desk. After unlocking a drawer, he pulled out a worn leather case and placed it reverently on the soft suede blotter before him. After a moment, he opened it. 

Even after all this time the sight of the contents managed to affect his disciplined demeanor. His long, well manicured fingers reached out to caress the contents: a glass syringe with stainless steel plunger and the sharpest of needles nestled in rich red velvet with a matching vial on one side of the case, while on the other lay a much abused spoon and length of soft rubber hose. 

Mycroft’s eyes went dark, pupils responding to deeply buried memories. His breathing and heart rate sped up as said memories attempted to breach through the barricades he had erected over decades. For appetites like his had to be controlled, constantly. When he felt the tip of his tongue moistening his dry lips, Mycroft closed the case carefully and locked it away once more. His fifteen minutes were up. 

“Anthea, order the cakes from L’ETO’s for tea.” 

“Anything in particular, Sir?”

“Surprise me.”

Flipping his laptop open, Mycroft began perusing his emails. He found losing himself in the mundane tasks of his Office soothing. The restraint of tedium was a solace to him, a lesson his younger, more volatile brother could learn, he mused self-righteously. What he did not notice though, was how his thumb rubbed the space between the ring and middle fingers of his left hand... worrying at faint scars in the tender flesh... scars made once upon a time by very sharp needles.


End file.
